


The Depravity of Memories

by EchoSherry



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Angst, Atmospheric, H2OVanoss - Freeform, M/M, descriptive, or so I tried, republishing from tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 23:27:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17110166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoSherry/pseuds/EchoSherry
Summary: His hand trembled as it surrounded the door knock, just far enough not to touch it yet. A memory of his back hitting the door, and keys barely fitting as their drunken minds try to keep up with their bodies. His fingertips touched the door, and it stood half opened. Had he forgotten to close it since last time, the thought crossed his mind and felt loud as it dragged many more behind it.





	The Depravity of Memories

Late at night, Evan stood by the door again, and for a while he could not enter. The windows gaped with loneliness, the curtains blew softly in the night air as the glass reflected the light coming from the sky. His eyes reached the old tree beside the house with its roots scattered and low branches threatening visitors, it reached the height of monsters with its dark leaves trapping a side of the house. He took comfort in noticing no branches got inside yet.

His hand trembled as it surrounded the door knock, just far enough not to touch it yet. A memory of his back hitting the door, and keys barely fitting as their drunken minds try to keep up with their bodies. The night breeze was soft but enough to move their coats as they cling to each other’s waists and necks. His mouth was warm against his as were his hands around his neck, his thumb slowly moving against Evan’s cheek. His fingertips touched the door, and it stood half opened. Had he forgotten to close it since last time, the thought crossed his mind and felt loud as it dragged many more behind it.

The trail in his head faded as he set a foot in the house, and the familiar air hit his lungs. He opened his mouth and breathed slowly as his hand clung to his bag. His eyes reached the curtains dancing with the wind once again and considered closing them, but the forlorn figures in the house begged him not to. He found himself nodding as if anyone could hear or see how pitiful and small he looks as he set his things on the couch with his fingers lingering a moment longer. Old smells hit his nose as though people really lived here, and for a moment he wanted to look around for ghosts as he wondered would Jon’s still carry his smell?

The walls of the house stood taller than he remembered with the chandelier hanging from the white empty ceiling. The small crystals it carried reflected the table near the middle of the room as though it was there to fill the emptiness. His eyes lingered on the staircase as memories of comforting nights in a familiar bed rushed to him. He felt his right foot moving towards the old bedroom hoping for warmth and a pair of arms surrounding him before he gained control again.

The heap of library books laid beside the old television, with a note still barely visible from the side. An old pile of DVDs on the other side, neatly placed with dust covering them. He looked at the desolate house holding haunting whispers of the past within its soulless walls. He stood there with his heart thumping steadily in his chest, a painful prick of tears behind his eyes. He felt the emotions buried within the emptiness of the place reminding him, there would be no resurrections this time.

When he thought of Jon in his waking hours, as he prepares breakfast or writes music, he was not bitter. He should remember it as what it might have been if he lived here without fear. And yet the thought only drags regrets and screams of an old man starts banging in his head begging him to stop. He would remember the morning coffee Jon would make every morning despite his hate for the sun light, the low voice singing as softly as he could so to not wake up Evan. Hours later once Evan would wake up, he would remember opening his eyes and watching his boyfriend getting dressed, his eyes trying not to look at the scars surrounding his spine for too long.

Luke told him to forget the past, and back then he tried to pretend it never existed. But Luke didn’t live with him as long as Evan did. He wasn’t used to drinking his coffee and eating his bad cooking while the complaints turn into shy laughter. He didn’t have to sleep dreaming about listening to his lover’s heart beats after an intimate night. Luke didn’t have to play the guitar Jon bought for him, or feed the dog he left behind. It was the things he and Jon shared, and no one else knew of that destroyed him the most. The memories he could not speak of because it was theirs only, and the emotions they felt which were too intense for anyone to understand. It was unspoken things that wouldn’t let him be.

As Evan walked into the first bathroom to his right after climbing the stairs, he smelled of blood and he wondered if it was the full moon doing this to him. He could see the old sink covered with the old man’s blood as he felt Jon’s small hands tighten around his. The rush of panic and victory still haunted him and he wanted to flee again like he did then all those years ago. As he looked from the small closed window, pictures of the first night his lover slept peacefully next to him flooded his mind. He still asks Ryan sometimes if it was right that all he cared about was Jon, if what he did would not be forgiven or if the old man would come back to find him one day.

A shiver in his back made him look back into the hallway. They once danced here, the loud classic music that shouldn’t be danceable faded behind their loud laughter as their feet stumbled and fell. Some days he would forget what Jon tasted like, his words in certain situations would escape him and leave him lonely and confused. Luke still talks about him when he gets drunk, but Evan doesn’t stop him. It surprises him how many little things he didn’t know, how many stories he did not hear of. He wonders if his lover would’ve told him more if he said something back, if the trust he had would’ve grown if he was not a coward.

He shivers as his phone rings from down stairs. He knows it’s Luke or Ryan, and he wonders if it’s finally both calling after they worked things out. His hand almost reaches for the emptiness next to the bathtub, its scarlet surface reflecting the pure light. A weak breath escapes him as he stares at the empty sad walls of this house and he murmurs an apology, he wonders if the walls will hold his regrets now instead of his ex’s sorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm republishing this from tumblr since it deleted the H2oVanoss tag. At the time, I wanted to work on my ability to create an atmospheric story/novel. Granted, I failed but I hope you enjoyed this.   
> Any feedback will be appreciated.


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